


Only the Echoes

by Sue Corkill (mscorkill)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/Sue%20Corkill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night seems endless but he’s patient and coming down from a post-mission high is nothing new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only the Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> For Lisa, who wanted angsty Jack. Happy Birthday, friend!
> 
> Season Three; originally posted July 2007.

ONLY THE ECHOES

Jack doesn’t sleep. He tried, when they first got back, after the dramatic rescue and reunion; the heady rush of defeating yet another Goa’uld and cheating death its own exotic type of drug bringing a euphoria, that when ultimately faded, left him cold and alone with the demon that now haunts his nights. 

Their first night back, he blames his restless sleep on the infirmary, the quiet bustle of the staff, the soft murmurs and sighs of Carter and Daniel as they sleep, separated from each other by only the thin curtains. And he envies them their ability to slip into oblivion. The staff tiptoes carefully around them, going about the business of taking care of those who are actually physically injured and Jack closes his eyes whenever the footsteps creep too close to his secluded corner of the infirmary. The night seems endless but he’s patient and coming down from a post-mission high is nothing new. 

He thought that it would be different at home…in his own bed. 

His eyes burn as he stares at his bedroom ceiling, the cold light of dawn seeping through the curtains of another sleepless night. He knows he dozes, in those fleeting moments when fatigue pulls too heavily at him and his mind finally releases the stranglehold it has on consciousness, he drifts off to his nightmares and the jeering and taunting voice of his snake—inevitably followed by the screams and empty threats as it squirms through its death throes, railing at him and the Tok’ra, even Hathor, as it futilely fights to blend with him.

Jack doesn’t get all the physiology; he isn’t sure anyone understands completely, even Fraiser. For while they assure him that the snake never fully blended with him, he isn’t sure why he has such vivid memories of the bastard’s every thought from the moment of its triumphant entry when it bored its way into his neck to the final, gasping moments when it finally fled him, only to freeze and shatter in their cold coffin.

Lying safe in his bed, Jack feels as if he’s still in the icy grip of the goa’uld, both of them fighting for life in the cryo chamber that became the snake’s tomb and his living hell. But even in the cold light of yet another day where he’ll have to pretend to himself and everyone else that he’s all right and he hasn’t changed, he’s still not sure what’s worse, the nightmares that won’t let him rest or the chill he still feels right down to his bones. 

Forcing himself out of bed and out from under the blankets that can’t warm him, Jack staggers to the bathroom. The haggard face staring back at him from the mirror is a dead give away to his condition and he wonders how long it will take before he can sleep—and feel warm again. 

He remembers all too well the last time he felt warm, in those brief moments after killing Hathor when he’d found Carter crumpled on the floor; the bitter cold that seemed to have frozen his blood as it flowed through his veins assuaged by the woman he held so tightly in his arms. With her warm and soft body pressed against his, he felt his heart start to beat again and the ice begin to thaw in his soul. 

His smile is grim as he starts to shave; the irony isn’t lost on him that he hasn’t been himself since that moment in her arms. He should be able to ignore the feelings he has for her, he’s generally very successful at that kind of denial. But ever since they’ve returned, he feels raw and vulnerable, his emotions crawling under his skin just like the snake….

Jack functions on automatic, going through his morning routine and thirty minutes later he arrives at the base. Parking his truck, he realizes he doesn’t remember anything about the drive, too bad he can’t say the same for his nights. Once through the final check point and in the elevator, the floors flash by and Jack puts on his game face, for the only thing worse than the cold, sleepless nights is the fear that Hammond, or worse yet, Fraiser will see through the thin veneer that is keeping the demons at bay and demand an explanation he can’t even hope to give. 

And it works...at least that’s what he tells himself as he ignores the concerned and sometimes confused looks from his team. He sits through briefings, he forces down a sandwich that tastes like sawdust and as much as he needs the normalcy of the daylight, he aches for the dark of night because even his tormented dreams are better than being so close to her that he can hear her breath…feel her warmth and still remain frozen. She laughs at something Daniel says, her smile a beacon for his shattered soul. 

_“You will never be free,”_ the mocking voice from his nightmares taunts him. _“You will destroy her as surely as I’ve destroyed you.”_

Jack can’t deny the truth and feels the cold creeping deeper. With a mumbled, “Later,” he calmly flees with the dining hall, taking deep breaths to forestall the insidious panic that threatens his sanity. In the quiet confines of his office he regains control and ruthlessly ignores the whispers and echoes, finding a measure of peace in the mind-numbing routine of endless paperwork and forms. 

And he succeeds in pushing the darkness deeper, so much so that hours later, when he hears the rap on his door, he doesn’t hesitate and says, “Come.”

“Sir?”

His heart starts pounding and he doesn’t look up from the paper in front of him though the words don’t make sense anymore. “What is it, Carter?”

“Are you all right?”

He still doesn’t look up and when she speaks again, he hears the hesitation and uncertainty in her voice.

“It just seems that ever since we got back….”

Her voice trails off and Jack hopes if he ignores her, she’ll go away. In the ensuing silence he waits for the sound of the door closing behind her, but it doesn’t and when he feels her tentative touch on his shoulder, he shatters.

“God, Sam!” He pushes out of his chair and grabs her, pulling her frantically into his arms. He hears her startled gasp and feels the initial stiffness in her body, but then he feels her relax and he buries his face against her neck, his arms tightening convulsively around her. 

“Sir,” she murmurs, her arms finally closing around him. “What is it?”

“Cold,” he mutters, shuddering against her. “So cold.”

“Let me call Janet.”

“No.” He’s shaking uncontrollably now and it seems beyond his ability to stop. “Home, just need to go home.”

She’s quiet for so long he’s afraid she’s going to ignore his plea, but then she quietly says, “Okay.”

Leaving the base is a blur; the only thing that saves him is that the night shift is already on duty, the SF’s waving them past checkpoints with barely an interested glance. He manages to walk beside her as if nothing is wrong and wordlessly hands over the keys to his truck when she holds out her hand. As soon as she starts the engine, he turns the heat up so that it’s blasting out of the vents, no longer able to suppress the shivering that wracks his body.

“Sir…” she pauses, her hand on the gear shift and looks at him, the lights from the parking lot casting her face in shadows. “Are you sure—”

“I’m sure,” he cuts her off, clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He meets her eyes and wills her to accept his request. It’s not fair to pull her into his nightmare but he can’t stop himself anymore than he can stop the need for her that wraps around his insides the same way the snake wrapped around his spine. He can see the battle she wages with herself before she nods and looks away. 

Jack closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the seat when the truck slips smoothly into gear. He doesn’t protest when Sam turns down the heat blasting into the truck; the cold panic has started to recede leaving in its place the crushing fatigue and in the safe cocoon of the truck’s cab, he dozes. 

“Jack.”

He jerks awake and for a brief moment he doesn’t know where he is and it’s not Sam touching his shoulder with concern in her blue eyes but that red-headed bitch, her eyes flashing. But awareness quickly returns and he recognizes Sam; a trick of the dashboard lights eerily illuminating her eyes before she blinks and they’re blessedly normal.

“We’re here,” she says. She’s pulled the big truck into the drive at his house, the motion sensitive outside lights already on. “You’ll be okay?” 

Once his momentary disorientation fades, he hears the tone of uneasiness in her voice which isn’t completely disguised by her brisk question. She knows the risks and he understands all about self-preservation. He studies her in the dim light and she flushes briefly, looking down at her hands, her fingers worrying the keychain as it hangs in the ignition. He thinks about lying to her and then can’t decide which lie is greater—that he’s okay or that he doesn’t want her to stay.

“No,” he finally says. It’s almost a relief to finally admit it. He’s knows he’s going under and while dragging her with him in the desperate hope that she can save him is unfair to her, he won’t let her go. 

“I’m going to take you back to the infirmary,” she finally says, her hand on the ignition.

“No,” he says roughly. Before she can turn the key, his hand shoots out and closes firmly over hers. “I don’t need Fraiser shining her light in my eyes or poking me with needles,” he snaps. Startled blue eyes meet his and some of the panic returns as he feels her slipping away, so he forces his lips to quirk into a semblance of a smile and lightly rubs his thumb across the back of her hand. 

Jack keeps his expression steady and his eyes locked with hers when the snake’s derisive voice starts to mock him. _“Pitiful human, begging for a woman…for this woman—”_

“Sam, please.” 

He doesn’t care if he it’s begging, he just knows he can’t face the quiet solitude of his bedroom just yet. Whatever she sees must satisfy her because he feels her hand relax beneath his and her wary look is replaced with an understanding he’s not sure he deserves. Her hand moves and she presses the keys into his hand.

The rush of adrenaline that rushes through him at the fear of her departure evaporates; the overwhelming fatigue once more pulling at him. Outside of the security of the truck, it’s a crisp, clear night; the slight breeze rustles through the pines and chases across his skin, driving the cold within him even deeper. He stumbles on the stairs and she’s right there beside him, catching his arm and he can’t find the strength to push her away, so he accepts the arm she puts around him and leans into her up onto the porch. She doesn’t even wait to see if he fumbles with the keys, silently slipping her arm from around him and taking them out of his unresisting hand.

He thinks he should feel shame or anger or something for letting her see him like this; for being anything but strong and capable and always the Colonel. But he’s too tired and the lure of having her warm body pressed up against his is more than he has the power to resist. The house is dark, so even though he’s still leaning heavily against her, he subtly guides them into the living room where she finally lets go of him and he sinks down onto the sofa.

His head falls back against the soft leather cushion and he closes his eyes; he hears her moving around in the dark and he winces when she turns on one of the table lamps. Cautiously opening his eyes, he sees her standing in the middle of the room; the light’s behind her, casting her eyes in shadow but he knows if he could see them clearly they would be filled with concern and trepidation…for him and the mess of his life in which he’s entangled her. 

She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. “It’s freezing in here,” she says, her eyes darting around the room. She sees the thermostat and he watches while she walks over to it and adjusts the dial, the low rumble of the furnace coming to life sounding through the vents.

“Won’t work.”

“What?”

“Not warm enough.” He should know, his high efficiency heat pump furnace hasn’t been able to do the job yet. He doesn’t miss the look of determination that fills her face and she looks around the room again, her eyes finally coming to rest on the fire place. 

“I’ll build a fire.”

Jack only wishes it was that simple and closes his eyes again; the sounds of someone else moving around the house keeps him from listening too closely to his own thoughts. Her footsteps, the sound of the fireplace doors opening, the slight hint of exertion he hears in her breathing and then the thud of wood as it hits the grate. He hears the rasp of one of the long matches he keeps just for the fire and soon the sounds of wood hissing and crackling as it burns and the scent of wood smoke fills the room.

Sinking a bit deeper into the soft leather cushions of his sofa, the familiar sounds of the fire and the heat he can almost feel radiating into the room are soothing and almost in spite of himself, Jack feels a peculiar lassitude start to sink into his slowly relaxing body. He fights it briefly, but the blanket of security that enfolds him just by the mere presence of Sam in his home is more than his tired body and mind can resist and he surrenders to the darkness of his dreams.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It always starts the same…he wakes up in a soft, warm bed—sometimes alone, sometimes not. It doesn’t really matter that the someone he wakes up with is Hathor, because he’s caught in a different nightmare, the nightmare of being trapped inside his mind as the snake takes control of his body. What happens in the middle is inconsequential, whether he cries, pleads, curses at or accepts his captor; it always ends the same, with his hands wrapped around Daniel’s neck, crushing the life out of him while Hathor looks on in triumph. 

It never ends there though. 

Sam is always last…and where Daniel’s death is always quick and merciful, Sam’s isn’t. He never remembers the details when he wakes up exhausted, tangled in the sheets with the snake’s jeering voice still echoing in his head; his heart pounding and the sweat drying on his body, leaving him shaken and chilled to his bones, but he knows it’s bad, worse than he ever thought he could imagine—or dream. So he doesn’t mind so much the not remembering, he just wishes he could forget the rest.

Since he’s been back—since they’ve been back—he’s become so accustomed to waking with blood on his hands and the snake’s voice in his ear that when his eyes open and he doesn’t see Daniel and Sam lying dead at his feet he thinks at first he’s still dreaming. But this dream is surprisingly different…because Sam is with him, curled up in one of the leather arm chairs. She’s working on her laptop, he has the vague memory of her stowing it in the back seat of his truck when they left the base, she looks almost insubstantial, like a dream, enveloped in the soft glow of the muted light from the lamp on the end table. 

He slowly turns his head and the rest of his living room comes into focus; the fire crackles merrily in the fire place, adding to the seductive ambiance and on top of his fuzzy confusion, Jack thinks he might actually be warm. He doesn’t say anything, but something must alert her. 

“Hey.” Her hair glints gold in the light and her smile almost hurts. She closes the laptop and sets it on the floor, rising to her feet. The cushions on the sofa give, the leather creaking, when she sits down next to him. He’s too bemused to do anything but sit there when she lays the back of her hand against his forehead. Her hand is cool and heat spreads through him. 

When her hand lingers, her touch turning from friendly concern into something more…an almost hesitant caress, her fingers brushing through his hair, he discovers something that doesn’t surprise him—he doesn’t want to lose her warmth. His hand shoots up and he grabs her wrist. Her eyes flash immediately to his and when she instinctively tries to pull away, he tightens his grip. Her skin is soft against his fingers and he can feel the fine bones in her wrist—and the tension that suddenly fills her.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. His words seem eerily familiar and he wonders if he says the same thing to her in the dream. The mocking laughter of the dead goa’uld is faint and for the first time since the nightmares began, he’s able to ignore the taunts. Jack eases the pressure on her wrist and rubs his thumb lightly along the delicate flesh of her inner wrist. He doesn’t want to frighten her…or hurt her, but he won’t let her go—this time. 

“Colonel.” His hand tightens fractionally and he knows he’s not hurting her, but she winces anyway. “Jack,” she starts again. “How do you feel?”

He knows she doesn’t understand what she’s asking, because if she did, she would never risk what should be a simple question which should have an equally simple answer. His thumb resumes its leisurely caress of her wrist; the simple answer is that he’s actually feeling; the unrelenting numbness and cold fading under her tender concern. 

“Better.” 

Her eyes are dark pools of bewilderment in the flickering fire light and with his free hand he reaches up and lightly caresses her cheek; he rubs his thumb across her lips, the soft whoosh of air when she exhales washing across is skin. It occurs to him again that this isn’t fair to her and it should probably alarm him that he agrees with the voice of the snake in his head when it whispers, _‘Take what you need…take her.’_

Jack doesn’t need the extra encouragement and he slowly moves his hand along her cheek, his fingers ruffling through her hair before he finally rests his hand at her nape. Pressing his hand against her nape, he urges her closer and he watches her intently for any sign of rejection, reassuring himself that if she does protest, he’ll stop. She doesn’t protest; she comes to him and he doesn’t stop.

Her lips are soft and cool beneath his and he thinks he can feel her trembling but then he also thinks he could be the one trembling at the first, exquisite taste of her. Jack takes his time kissing her, molding his lips to her before teasing them open and when she opens her mouth to him, its better than he ever imagined and he savors each tentative caress because he’s afraid this moment of peace won’t last. 

She doesn’t stop him and hope creeps in; her hesitant touch turns confident and some of his desperation is eased by her response, his caresses become bolder and she responds in kind. Their clothing melts away in a controlled frenzy of buttons and zippers being released and as her creamy flesh is revealed to his gaze and touch, he doesn’t feel the slight chill of the air on his skin, all he can feel is the fire burning low in his gut.

His sofa isn’t really big enough for what they’re doing, but it will do and the cramped space doesn’t really seem to matter when he lays back and Sam rises over him. Jack’s breath catches and he almost comes undone when she sinks down and slowly envelopes him in her warmth. The heat erupts through him like hot lava flows through a volcano and he’s swept along in the raging current, helpless in its grasp. 

Just when he thinks he’s going to sink and be lost forever, she’s there with him, gasping his name and shuddering around him and it’s all he needs. His hands are hard when he grips her hips and any regret he feels at the bruises he’ll leave on her tender skin is lost in the rush of exquisite pleasure that races through him when he surrenders to her warmth and passion.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s cold when he wakes up, but for the first time in days it’s not the cold that starts deep inside his bones and freezes him from the inside out. It’s cold air, pure and simple. Jack cautiously rolls to his back, careful to not disturb the woman still sleeping snuggled up against him. Somehow in the aftermath, they ended up on the floor in front of the fire. He doesn’t really remember the how, but they’re wrapped in the blankets off his bed and while the floor is hard, all he feels is relief that it was the cold that woke him and not the voice in his head.

Carefully extricating himself from Sam’s arms, the cool room air chases goose bumps across his skin and he shivers from the pure pleasure of it as he quietly adds more wood to the fire, stirring up the remaining embers until the sparks catch the dry wood and the flames burst back into life. She’s awake when he turns back, finished with tending the fire; raised up on her elbow looking at him, the blanket has fallen to her waist and her pale flesh gleams in the fire light.

“Jack?” Her voice is oddly subdued and he sees the vulnerability in her eyes and hears everything she doesn’t ask when she says his name. 

“It’s okay,” he reassures her, quickly slipping back under the blankets with her and curling up on his side, pulling her into the cradle of his body. He arranges his arms around her and her head is pillowed on his shoulder and he stares over tousled blonde curls into the fire. He feels her sigh and the feathery touch of her fingers as she strokes his arm in an idle caress.

“Better?” she asks. 

He doesn’t want to hurt her and he doesn’t want to lie to her and he waits for the mocking voice of the snake to start taunting him and his weakness when it comes to her, but he hears nothing but silence and the sounds of the fire over their breathing and he realizes in surprise that maybe he is better. He’s no fool though and before the jeering voice can echo through his mind and warn him that it’s not going to be that simple, he says, “Yeah, I am.”

THE END


End file.
